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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27243322">Always A Call Away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/voyagerette/pseuds/voyagerette'>voyagerette</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wentworth (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>screak - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:15:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27243322</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/voyagerette/pseuds/voyagerette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What was life like at Brenda's place once an ex-Governor/fugitive moved in?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joan Ferguson/Brenda Murphy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Always A Call Away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door clicked shut behind her as Brenda shed her coat and pink vest and haphazardly hung them on the newly installed coat rack above the matching shoe rack. As she slid her shoes off and neatly set them in their new place, Brenda called out in her best 50’s man impression, “Honey, I’m home!” Which of course earned her an especially nasty look when she entered the kitchen where her new roommate was in the midst of preparing dinner.<br/>
“Ha.”<br/>
Joan shifted her focus back to slicing some herbs on the cutting board in front of her. Brenda glanced around her kitchen, piecing together what the other woman was cooking up for them tonight.<br/>
“What have you prepared for us tonight, Chef?” Brenda questioned her as she continued to poke around the kitchen to investigate.<br/>
“You’ll find out soon enough. Set the table while you’re being nosey, would you?” Joan finished with the herbs just in time to glance up and see Brenda giving her a small salute.<br/>
“Yes, Ma’am”<br/>
Joan rolled her eyes and smiled to herself as she opened the oven door.<br/>
----</p><p>The two women had been co-inhabiting Brenda’s home for a little over a month and both had slipped into a sort of routine easily to their surprise. In a show of her appreciation and to make the concept of staying in someone else’s space more bearable, Joan cleaned the house and prepared meals once her injuries were mostly healed and she felt up to it. Brenda would go to work at her dreadfully boring new job while Joan piddled around the house. They would reconvene in the evenings to have dinner together and then sit in comfortable silence as Joan read in the chair she claimed as hers and Brenda watched her shows while stretched out on the couch.<br/>
The first week was the most difficult for them to endure. For Joan, the combination of nearly dying, being buried alive, and being in close proximity to another person in an unfamiliar place was nearly too much for her to handle. Nearly. As she was conditioned to do, she adapted to her new surroundings. She slowly became more accustomed to Brenda’s presence and space. </p><p>Brenda knew the last thing Joan needed was for someone to be invasive, so she didn’t pry or make unnecessary small talk with her. She left her be as much as she could and occasionally checked in on her before she left for work to see if she needed anything. The only time Brenda got too close for comfort was when she changed the bandages on her neck.<br/>
Even though Joan insisted she could tend to her wounds on her own, Brenda helped clean and dress them before they parted ways to get ready for bed. It was always the same process: after her shows were over, Brenda would fetch the basket with all the wound treatment supplies and get to work. Slipping some gloves over her freshly sanitized hands, she would begin to start the cleaning.</p><p> It became so routine once the majority of the healing was over that Brenda often let her mind wander while she worked on the other woman’s neck. She often thought of how bizarre their situation would look to a third party. She couldn’t even imagine the shit that Linda would give her if she knew about her new roomie. God, I can hear it now. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be shacking up with the boss when they still sign your paychecks?’ She let out a halfhearted chuckle as she heard her former coworker’s voice in her head. The sudden break of silence jarred Joan out of her own thoughts, and she cut her eyes to look at the source of the sound. </p><p>As she was finished applying the fresh bandage, Joan caught the smaller woman’s wrist midair and looked her in the eye to ask “Why are you doing all of this when you could have turned me in for the reward money?” unable to hide the suspicion and paranoia in her voice<br/>
“Because you called.” she answered without skipping a beat.<br/>
“‘Because I called’?” Joan searched the woman’s face for answers but found none.<br/>
“Yes. You called, so I showed up.” She said this matter-of-factly, like it was some universal truth that everyone should know. “Look, you called me to be there in case things went wrong and they did. So I’m doin’ what you called me to do in the first place: look out for ya.” </p><p>Joan eyed her for any signs of deceit, although she wasn’t entirely sure she would recognize them in her. “Yes, but what do you want? You must want something for all the work you’re putting into it. I didn’t think you were capable of working this hard at any task for free.”</p><p>She let out another halfhearted chuckle as she glanced at the floor. She was expecting this conversation to happen sooner or later. She had the right to be distrusting. Enduring a fraction of what she had been through would be enough to make anyone suspicious of others motives. Brenda slipped her wrist from the now limp grasp and took Joan’s hands in her own.</p><p>When Brenda’s eyes met hers, Joan saw something she hadn’t seen in another person in what seemed like forever: sincerity. </p><p>“Joan, I don’t want money. Even if I did, how do you expect to get it? Walk on down to the nearest ATM machine, would ya? Guarantee the cops are watching your bank accounts. Plus, it’s too late to turn you in. Not only would I get into some trouble, but how could I ever find another housekeeper and cook as good as you are?” Her eyes glittered as they always did when he was poking fun at her.</p><p>Joan scoffed and rolled her eyes to distract from the small smile that crept across her face. She was right about that; they would be monitoring her accounts and home for any activity. She didn’t have much to offer, but thankfully it didn’t seem like her keeper wanted hardly anything at all. </p><p>“Now, you can come off red alert and relax a bit. We’ve got time to work out a new plan. You’re almost all healed up, too.” Brenda gave her hands a gentle squeeze as she spoke next, “Everything’s going to be fine. Don’t worry, okay? I’ve got ya.” With that, Brenda gave her one last smile and stood up. She put away the medical supplies and told her good night. </p><p>Joan stayed seated in her chair for a while longer replaying those last few words she heard. I’ve got ya. As she did, she felt an unfamiliar wave of peace wash over her. She believed Brenda and maybe even trusted her a little. She finally rose from her chair and headed to bed, the conversation still playing in her head as it hit the pillow.</p><p>As the days went on, Joan relaxed more and more. The banter started flowing easily, both getting more and more bold with each quip. Their routines developed and they started to enjoy each other’s company more than they would admit to one another. Two lives started to meld into one. </p><p>---</p><p>Dinner was over and the two were still sat at the table polishing off a bottle of wine. They spent the majority of the meal chatting about Brenda’s underwhelming job and the less than mediocre people she encountered on a daily basis. </p><p>“At least Wentworth had some excitement on occasion. The most action we see is a shattered jar of jam every now and again.” she feigned annoyance as Joan laughed into her glass. “Dinner was delish, by the way. I don’t know how you do it, but you cook up some pretty amazing things every night.”</p><p>“Well, I’ve had plenty of time to find new recipes to test out. What else is there to do while you’re at your extremely important job?” She topped their glasses off with the remainder of the wine. </p><p>“You know, I’m always a call away if you ever get too bored. They can survive without me if need be. Or if you need anything, pick up the phone and call.” Her tone shifted from her normal joking one to the serious one she used for business with that last sentence.</p><p>Joan finished off the last of her glass and smiled. “I know. I will, trust me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am fully aware that the "M" in "ATM" stands for "machine", but Brenda is Brenda and we all know she would say that. Also, this is the first fic that I've written in years so I'm sorry if the formatting is a bit off. I tried.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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